A Humor All Its Own: 52 Weeks
by pantomimicry
Summary: Harry/Lucius, slash. Slight AU. Set five years after the Battle of Hogwarts Harry begins visiting Lucius in Azkaban. He finds himself in an open, antagonistic and deeply flawed relationship with Malfoy, who is still every bit as unkind and direct as Harry remembers. Though a year spent together has them wondering whether love has a very dry sense of humor.
1. Still wanting

He was a fucking cosmic joke; his life was a joke. _What life?_ His apartment was shit, a hole in London's packing district. His job? Jesus, his job was intolerable. He wondered how it was possible to be so un-tethered from society and at once at its core. _Still the fucking hero_.

* * *

><p><strong>Second Week: <strong>

Harry smiled wanly, walked a touch faster, and pulled his cloak a little tighter. No Dementors, whose bright idea was it to exile them? Human guards wanted. They were flesh and blood and desires. He felt ill; another mental tally: 'Things that were not going his way'. He should have modified the list with 'today': 'Things that were not going his way TODAY'.

The next two guards he passed with his head down. He spoke, every time, to a man named Garrison. He was too young to be guarding Azkaban; maybe a year or so off from Harry's twenty-two. The young man's face opened childishly when he saw Harry. He would smile, laugh about his 'patients'. It made Harry uneasy to think so casually about the prison. The prison Sirius had suffered and escaped from, and Voldemort had essential hijacked.

Another tally, as he remembered why his cloak was so tightly around him. Azkaban was now playing host to Rodolphus Lestrange, recently captured and still very much insane. There was a tangible buzz among the guards. Garrison had been…enthusiastic. It was understood and to an extent over looked when prisoners became violently and suddenly ill or they turned up with 'a little too deep' of a cut. The inmates were just as much playthings as they were heinous criminals. He was very careful; if his eyes were down and his peripherals blocked then he would not have to see anything.

He pressed his forehead against a stretch of bare stone. He could hear and feel his ragged breathing, a small struggle. His lungs felt pressed, the air stale, damp. He visualized his path, twenty feet to the corridor, another guard, forty feet until the big doors, another corridor, a left. He didn't recognize the guard, big and pale, he was imposing. His face lit unnaturally when harry pulled his hood away, though.

"Didn't tell me we was having a special guest today. Coulda cleaned him up a bit," he laughed brightly at his own implication and winked at Harry. "Had a rough night, though. So, don't expect his usual charm, eh?"

Harry nodded and gave something closer to a grimace than smile but it went unnoticed. The man talked more fluidly once they moved to the East wing. He, too, was excited about Lestrange. He liked to 'break a spirited' as he put it. "Really make 'em bleed" and Harry suspected he was speaking literally.

**Eighth Week: **

He stopped only once to push down the rising bile in his throat and made it to the East wing in record time. The usual guard, Nick as Harry had learned on his fourth week, was waiting for him. It was their custom for Nick to walk him to the last warded door and wait for Harry to return. Today, his face was ugly, gnarled and he only grunted at Harry as they walked. Each torch they pasted let him see a little more of the man's face. It was heavily bruised on his right side, with four almost, claw marks running down his cheek.

"One of the little bastards had a go at me," he said by way of explanation. _More than a go, a whole fucking piece!_ He was silent after that and left Harry to go on at the door.

He felt bare, as he always did, along this last stretch. No wand, left with Garrison. No cloak, just him. His feelings, his own painfully terrifying thoughts.

All of the cells were small, boxes with holes as toilets really, but his, Lucius', was smaller. "Lights," he called warningly as the torch lit for him. His cell was kept in almost constant darkness. His third week, when he had first had the courage to leave Nick's side, he had surprised Lucius by stepping into the room too quickly. The torch flared and he watched the man press a palm against his eyes, shielding them from the painful lights, before melting into the deep shadows. A punishment. Even within a cell the man had power over him. He kept hidden for the twenty minutes that Harry remained.

Now, he took two steps closer to the bars. Lucius sat in his chair, legs crossed at the knee, hands folded in his lap. Last week they had sat in silence: Harry unable to think of a topic important enough to discuss, Lucius too weary to try.

"I've got a promotion," he began.

And immediately, "well done, Mr. Potter."

"I didn't take it."

He made the smallest of movements, an inclination of his head. "Bureaucracy is fickle."

"I'm sick," he began again," I spent seventeen years of my life running from people like YOU_. _ A-and now I chase YOUs around all day. How can I even be good at it? Every criminal knows my name, my face.

Lucius tilted his head, "Mr. Potter, do not confuse what I have done with the common criminals you chase. I sought neither influence nor wealth."

"No, you just wanted power to rule the fucking world."

He sighed and Harry thought he sounded remarkably human. "I had no wish to 'rule the world'. A sneer, "I wanted to protect my family, my son."

"How'd that work out for you?" And he felt immediately childish for taunting a man behind bars.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow as if to say 'do you feel big with bars between us?" Then very softly, "things went very wrong. No one Potter, not even Dumbledore, can predict every possible outcome to a situation."

"You served Voldemort twice," he said, incredulous now and consciously stepping towards the cell.

"It is in my interest and yours as well to see wizarding society flourish."

"Is that your new rationale." He laughed bitterly, "I guess you have all the time in the world to think of this shit!"

"Mr. Potter," his voice was soft and Harry remembered how dangerous the caged man was –is. "Do you know that less than 26% of the world's population is made up of magical folk? Of that, .8% are of pureblood descent. Does it make sense to you that as more muggles enter our world we lose ourselves to their beliefs and culture to some extent?"

**Ninth Week: **

"Feeding time, Your Highness." Nick brushed passed Harry and tossed a plate of odd tan shapes on the floor at Lucius' feet. "You get to watch the animals at the watering hole today, Mr. Potter." He winced when the guard gave a belly laugh and clasped his shoulder. A wave of nausea rolled over him.

Lucius remained in his chair, a few boards and nails really, and kept perfectly still. He seemed unaware of the plate, unaware of Nick's insult. At last, when Nick left the two men locked eyes. Dove grey against emerald green.

"You're early this week, Mr. Potter."

He snorted, "trust me that wasn't my choice."

"You don't find Mr. Bram enchanting," and there was almost an amused smile threatening to breakthrough.

He snorted again. He should not be charmed by Lucius, not when he knew all too well how that charm could be played against his enemies. Was he still, after five years, the blonde's enemy? Whom could he possibly hurt behind bars and confined to Azkaban Island. Harry slumped against the wall, hiding within the chamber's shadows. The man wasn't threatening, not physically. He was bones and skin and the dirt that caked him.

"You don't eat," he said breaking the silence.

Malfoy had closed his eyes while they were quiet and now opened them, slowly, as if it was beyond his bodily power. "Very rarely," the older man said.

Harry coughed to hide his laughter. As if the man could afford not to eat. "Gods, Lucius. Nothing less than gourmet for you."

Lucius unclasped his hands and made a swiping motions, finger tips skyward. "I'm allergic," he said simply.

"What?"

Slowly the tiniest smile spread across his face, reaching his eyes, "Mr. Potter, I am human." Harry stepped forward and was within inches of the bars. They felt grimy, thick with what…dust, filth? He looked intently at Malfoy. Pale, no, swallow from imprisonment, and painfully thin.

"**WHAT **are you allergic to?" He asked sharply. He was furious because if Lucius was a human being he would have to feel something other than hatred for him.

"The preservatives in the food." They both looked down at the indistinguishable tan mass on the plate.

"Do they know," Harry countered; he knew the answer already. These inmates, Malfoy, they were just toys.

"Of course," he said lightly.

He let his head rest on the bars before pulling back quickly. _Why had he been early today?_ He left ten minutes later, feeling overwhelmed with grief and…self-pity. Malfoy. Even without the Dementors Azkaban was harrowing. Yet, the guards gave Harry a different sense of loathing.

He made it to the corner of Diagon and Knockturn Ally before doubling over to dry heave. _Why did he visit a man whom he despised? Why was he, now, feeling such acute sympathy?_

**Eleventh Week: **

He had not gone yesterday, a Thursday. The paper had said there was a riot within the prison. Three men were killed; he had stopped reading after that.

"Harry, Merlin, pay attention, mate."

He glanced up, annoyed, "You haven't heard a word we've said," Hermione sniffed.

"No, honestly, I have. Wedding, Neville, Hannah. You and Ron trying for a baby."

"Prat, "she said. "Harry, I'm," she glanced at Ron. This was planned, "we're worried. Ginny said-"

"-Ginny worries, hell I'd call it more nagging," he added lightly.

"Oi-"

"Yeah, I know. She cares and all." Harry grimaced as Hermione kicked him under the table. Ginny was a touchy subject with Ron. Some days they got pissed and no one was safe and others, Ron was practically radioactive about Harry sleeping with his sister. _Not so much sleeping anymore._

Hermione's voice drifted to him, "- all care. You never come home. You –"

"You shagging some slag?" Ron cut in hotly.

"Ronald! Don't ask him that. Of course he's not. You're not," she said firmly

She plead with her eyes. As if to say 'deny it whether it's true or not.' They both understood how terrible life could be if he did not answer correctly. _Not truthfully. _

He relented, "no, I'm not."

Hermione looked so relieved he felt ashamed of his need to taunt them. As a matter of fact he was not cheating on Ginny. He wanted out, desperately, though. He wanted something of his own, something that was not or would not remind him of his place in the world.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione again, "if you're unhappy you have to talk to her about it. Tell her what's making you feel this way."

"Come on Moine. Leave off. He gets like this. Ginny's probably just being a little **too caring**," Ron said, the sarcasm tangible.

"Look," he kept his voice calm, "Ginny and I have our problems but we're fine. Let's just leave it."

He wanted to have a life not constantly in the spotlight. And very briefly, it whipped through his mind that- _he wanted Lucius Malfoy to be alive._

**Fourteenth Week: **

Lucius sat, in more shadow than light this week, but harry could see the deep purple bruises on his left cheek. They were new, and all consuming on the pale skin.

"It is inconvenient," Lucius mused.

"What is?" Harry said.

"It is inconvenient that you must see me as human in my present state."

"I, n-no-"

Lucius smiled, almost gently, fatherly, at Harry. Humoring him. "Never the less," the blonde continued smoothly, "I apologise for this," and he swept his arm in an all encompassing gesture.

Harry didn't meet his amused eyes. He wasn't amused by Malfoy's levity. Harry seemed to melt into his corner, the filthy bars, the coarse stone wall, and the cracked concrete a seat for him. He felt as disgusting as Lucius looked sitting there.

He reached between his knees and fingered the letters there. He brought them each week, touching them and knowing he was sick to want this connection "I thought you were suppose to be eating more?" He mumbled.

"A larger portion once a week is far more detrimental than three small ones."

"What the hell does that mean?" The young man whispered fiercely. "You were supposed to get more food, better food," he added harshly.

"You must be more specific in your request next time, Mr. Potter."

"Is this just a fucking joke to you? I'm trying to help you, Lucius."

And of course the blonde man knew that. He could sense the dark haired man's need, his want of something. He watched Harry lay his head on his folded arms, a dark shadow against the stone. He could see the young man ghost his finger tips over the vile parchment of his letters. Harry's were written upon pristine sheets of muggle paper. The first, and the only one Malfoy bothered to keep, read:

_**Malfoy, are you alive?**_

It was left unsigned and arrived to him via Nicholas Bram, who had the good manners to open and leave carelessly atop his _**dinner**_. It was a revolting mess when Lucius finally read the four words.

He understood rage; he even could fathom blind violence but that day they both nearly overtook him. In the absence of his wand he struck out wildly: the wall, his chair, he had rattled the bars in abandon and then it was gone. Because he had no energy; he was angry as he hadn't been for decades. Why should this injustice, among the thousand tiny others, bother him? Because it was Potter, Harry.

He looked searchingly at the young boy; he looked beaten, had always looked beaten, since that first day they met in the bookstore. Then he spoke kindly, "this is not hell, Harry." The boy made to interrupt when Lucius said his name, said it so mildly, but Malfoy raised his hand preventing him. "It is uncomfortable, yes," he continued, "but death is a long way off. I _**am**_ meant to suffer here."

The younger man looked up, so sharply he pressed a hand to his temple and Lucius was reminded of Harry's systematic warning of the torches being lit. That first time when he was both shocked and blinded with the pain.

"Jesus, don't you ever get angry, because this would be the time."

**Twentieth Week: **

Malfoy cradled his wand arm, subtly. It upset the boy to see his perceived pain. Although, his arm gave a nasty throb as if to remind him that pain was more than a mind game. It was broken, badly, and perhaps in several places. "Ah," Lucius said hoping he had responded correctly to Harry's babbling. The boy, young man, really was incorrigible when he relaxed. Currently, he was facing the bars, Malfoy, and toying with the fringe of a cheap shirt.

"You haven't been listening," he asked with an honest smile.

"I'm afraid I have been woolgathering."

"It's ok," and a blush spread across his cheeks as he realized he had no right to grant even this small forgiveness. He coughed and drew his knees to his chest, embarrassed. "I don't care if you listen. No, yeah, you don't actually have to at all. I don't really have anything-"

"Please, begin again, Harry," Lucius interjected politely.

Harry started, his green eyes flashing alarm. _Malfoy apologizing?_ "Its not-"

"You do me a kindness by allowing me your company; the least I can do is provide you with a sounding board."

Harry smiled shyly," I'm not sure I'm an allowance but," a nervous pause, "thanks." Malfoy inclined his head slightly, both in thanks and as a reminder to Harry that he was telling a story.

"Er, well I was talking about quitting the Auror's office. I'm sick of criminals," here he cast a glance at the blonde, "I'm sick of catching them, at least," he amended. "I'm not complaining. Not really, I just, er, wish my job was happy. I know I help people. Catching bad guys and all, but if I worked with medicinal potions I could do real good. I could see people live."

"Live?" Malfoy asked.

Harry gave him an eyebrow wiggle, disguising his discomfort. "Yeah, I mean when I'm done with them, healing them, they get to walk out. They can play with their kids again and go to work_**. Live**_."

"Do the wizards you catch deserve your goodwill?"

"It's not mine," Harry said, "it's just something people deserve. I'm so fucking tired of taking things away from people." He shook his head, "I don't understand crime."

"You don't understand crime or you don't understand a person giving up the freedoms you worked so hard to win for them?"

"It wasn't just me! I wasn't the only one," he shouted.

"Yes, Harry, I realize," the older man said. His voice was so calm, a cool wave over the young man who felt as if he were on fire.

Harry pressed his forehead against the bars. He just wanted to be cool. Where his heart should have been he felt there was a flame, the embers his lungs. He couldn't breathe; his finger tips were warm, wet. Tears, his letters! His tears, larger than life, dropped to his hands which clutched the parchment. He was ruining them. _Stop!_

"Stop," he shouted, willing his body back to normal temperature, willing the tears away.

Something filthy and black was there, in his vision, and it was several seconds before he recognized the shapes as Malfoy's boots. Another five beats before something heavy and cool settled on his neck, rubbing, soothing.

"Breathe Harry, you must breathe." Lucius. And, he did, at last, begin to breathe. His chest expanded with the movements on his neck. The hand moved up into his hair and he breathed out, as the long fingers brushed the knot of his spine he pulled air in greedily. After ten, maybe eleven deep breaths in this pattern the hand moved to the top of his head and very gently pushed him away from the bars. Lucius had come down to his level and their eyes caught.

"I cared very deeply for Severus," the blonde finally admitted, "and he wanted you to live. He died," he added in a whisper, "so that YOU could live."

**Twentieth Week: Sunday- Letters to Lucius Malfoy. **

4:07 a.m.

_**L,**_

_**Did you love Snape? I'm quitting; Madame Pomfrey agreed to take me on.**_

_**H.**_

4:12 a.m.

_**L,**_

_**Were you IN love with Severus?**_

_**H.**_

4:34 a.m.

_**L,**_

_**I'm sending a potion for your arm. Yes, I did notice.**_

_**H.**_

**Twenty- Second Week:**

* * *

><p>Lucius was unconscious on the twenty-first week, Thursday. Harry felt ill and furious. He mirrored Lucius' behavior weeks ago. He rattled the bars and punched the walls, splitting his knuckles open. He demanded to be let inside the cell. "I am not leaving until I make damn sure Mr. Malfoy is alive," he said calmly.<p>

He and Nick had a glaring match and Harry gave his very best imitation of Severus Snape. Harry won. The guard lurched past him and murmured some words. He was gone before the bars parted to create a human sized gap.

The blonde man was lying on his stomach, his bad arm, the awfully broken one, crushed under his weight, however slight. Harry dropped to his knees ghosting his hands over him. _What the fuck! _He pushed his shirtsleeves up, deciding. He carefully began to turn Lucius so that first he was on his side, away from Harry, to keep the pressure on his good arm, and then on his back. Malfoy groaned, moving as if to curl into himself but Harry placed a restraining hand just above his knees. The pale man barely had a pulse, and each breath seemed to rip through his lungs. He pressed his palm against Lucius' cheek. The blonde moaned, and Harry jerked his hand away. His faced was flushed, one cheek swallowed and ugly where a cut looked inflected.

Harry was moving quicker now. Garrison had been too hung over to check his wand. He let it drop into his hand from his inner sleeve. He healed the cut and the lump on Malfoy's face with little trouble, but the arm made him nervous. It must have already started to heal improperly by now. He concentrated, visualizing the result he wanted before speaking the incantation. There was a sickening crack (definitely had been healing wrong) and then a soft sigh from his ward. _Thank Merlin._ He wanted to sleep, Christ he just wanted to wake up next year. The young man rested his cheek on Malfoy's leg; his right cheek, so he could watch the, now deep, rise and fall of his chest. He moved a hand up his rips, wanting, no needing, to feel his heartbeat.

* * *

><p>"Now who's not listening, Potter," Lucius said lightly.<p>

They were in their usual places. Malfoy in his chair, Harry sitting on the floor facing the bars.

"I'm sorry," he said, then severely, "what happens to you when I don't come, to visit."

Lucius raised an eyebrow, just hinting that he found Harry humorous. "You always come," and he gave the younger man a wry smile.

"How's your arm," he asked quickly trying to distract Malfoy from his blush.

"I'm doing very well. Thank you for the potion."

"Which you never received."

"It was a kind sentiment, nevertheless."

"A kind sentiment didn't fix your arm or heal those cuts."

"No, you did that Mr. Potter." Lucius' gentle voice countered Harry's bitterness. "Now," he said, his tone shifting into seriousness. "I believe you wrote to me with rather exciting news?"

Harry's face broke into a wide smile. "Yeah, I guess I'm not as bad at potions as I thought. Madame Pomfrey said I was good with patients, and-" Harry seemed to expand in the room as he talked. And, Lucius listened, intently, which surprised Harry more than anything ever would. It felt wonderful having someone hear him, as if the man actually cared. Lucius had stunned him with book suggestions and classes he may enjoy taking. "You know about potions," he asked wide eyed.

Malfoy almost chuckled. "An interest that Severus and I shared."

"You loved him," Harry said.

"Very much."

"What happened? I-I mean if you don't mind talking about it?"

"Life happened, Mr. Potter." He closed his eyes heavily for a moment and when he opened them his face was deadly serious. "Life and the war, and prior commitments. I made very poor choices in regards to my love of Severus. I-I wanted to keep him close to me," Malfoy's voice had the slightest tremor, "I was going to marry Narcissa. I believed I could both start a family, as was my obligation, and keep my lover."

Harry made a sobbing noise in the back of his throat as if 'I'm sorry' wouldn't quite come out.

"I am not looking for absolution," he growled, "I was wrong and it caused us both pain." His face gentled and he turned his hands in a palms up gesture. _An apology. _

**Twenty- Third Week: **

"Harry, whatever you're thinking or planning, don't. Malfoy is dangerous. You're just not seeing it yet."

"Look, Mione, I'm not talking about him. You asked me to have lunch. Please, tell me this wasn't what you wanted to talk about?"

"Oi, don't jump down her throat like that. We have a right to be upset. You're dating my sister and having secret meetings with that tosser."

"Ron, they're not secret. Harry told us. But Harry," she dug her nails into his arm, "you and Ginny are working on things right? I mean you're getting back to normal in-"

"Gods, Mione, don't talk about that in front of me," Ron snapped. "Mate," Ron added gruffly, "get yourself sorted and stop messing about my sister."

They were not children anymore but Hermione protected Ron, and he protected them both, still. When he met her eyes, as Ron began to storm off, he could see very clear that she was again playing Ron's protector. Ginny must have told her weeks ago about them, her confession to Harry of cheating on him. It hadn't bothered him at the time, but watching Hermione's face shift into lines of sympathy, he felt a surge of rage. At Ginny, for pushing him around so easily and at himself because he felt weak. He had not wanted a conflict. Yet, here he was and this truly would be his only chance.

"Ron," Harry called, "Ginny's moving out. She cheated on me."

"Where the fuck is she living then?" His irrationality was kicking in and he turned alarmingly red. "Work. It. Out," he shouted.

"Ron, please-"

"NO, shut it. I want to hear this. I'm sure it's a great fucking story. Why is my sister not good enough for Harry Potter?"

"That's not what-"

"We're not working it out." Harry felt crushed, caged in between Ron's righteous anger and Hermione's overwhelming grief. He had not gone to Azkaban today because of this, _them_.

**Twenty-fourth Week: Monday**

They had not been expecting each other, not on a Monday. Not when civilians would be around. Harry had been cautious, not from embarrassment but from a fierce need to protect the other man from any further scrutiny.

It was surprising not to see Garrison or Nick, to be truly searched because Monday guards were harder somehow, angrier. They were in awe, yes, but also more distrustful. These people, Lucius, were dangerous and it struck Harry with almost a suffocating force that this was a jail. Its' contents had no hope of escape and the cycle the inmates lived of resistance and punishment was forever. He was properly patted down and inspected by the guards. It felt intrusive after nearly six months of absolute invisibility. Nick had no use for a young man who grew pale at his vivid descriptions of prisoner torture.

Even with the torch light it was darker than usual and all Harry could see of Malfoy were the bottoms of his black boots, just on the edge of the light. He was not in his chair but against the back wall, on the dirt.

"Gotta take care with this one," the guard said noticing Harry's gaze. "Never know on a day like today."

"You never know what?" Harry asked sharply.

"We're just making sure that he doesn't try anything funny," and the guard's voice had hardened too, as if in defense of a real threat.

"I want to go inside."

"Inside what?"

"The cell."

"Why?"

"This isn't fucking twenty questions, just let me in."

"Mr. Potter-"

"You checked me; I don't have weapons. I don't even have a wand." Harry glared as hard as he could and the guard seemed to see a flicker of something truly unstable in his emerald eyes.

He shrugged, "I suppose he's not going anywhere," he chuckled.

"Not chained to the wall I am not," Malfoy added smoothly. His voice was gruff as if there were gravel bits stuck in his throat but Harry was aware of an immense relief washing over him. Had he actually thought Lucius was dead? _NO! Yes!_

He waited until the guard left to step through the gap. He felt panicked, as if he would die in here and-

"Mr. Potter," and he was here again, grounded by Malfoy's voice. The blonde was chained awkwardly to the wall, his hands so far above his head that he had to remain on his knees to keep the pressure off his shoulders.

"What do they think you're going to do?"

Malfoy shrugged in a way and Harry thought he looked oddly submissive, back turned towards him, vulnerable. He looked utterly broken. "Here," Harry said moving to the opposite corner and getting his usual chair. He brought it next to the man and bent to help him stand. Lucius leaned heavily on him, teetering on his bloodless legs. His arms rested comfortably on his lap now and Malfoy breathed deeply for a moment.

"Thank you," he said on an exhale.

The young man waved it off, "do your shoulders hurt much?"

"It is not unbearable." Harry wondered if anything was unbearable to Malfoy. Would he ever call uncle? Or would he rather die?

"Do they feel dislocated?" He didn't wait for an answer; he was already moving his hands over Malfoy's shoulder blades. It felt as if he were examining a skeleton the bones stuck out so intensely. His hands began a tentative slow sort of kneading. He kept the pressure light, as if the older man might shatter. "Monday is not your usual day," Malfoy said.

"I wrote to you," he said weakly because he knew Lucius received his letters days, sometimes weeks, later.

"Ah, perhaps on Friday I'll receive your apologies," he countered mildly.

"Hermione and Ron wanted to have lunch, an intervention more like," he murmured.

"Oh."

Harry wasn't sure if it was a question but he wanted to talk. This chaos had all begun because he was visiting Malfoy, because he had grown to respect and even like the man. He was seeing the change in himself as if someone had very rapidly flicked a light on. It was shocking and equally welcomed. He felt human being able to empathize with Lucius and it was a release. He doubted his humanity because he had killed a person, a thing. Until recently he had willingly worked in a job that could require him to kill again. He felt that by leaving the Auor's office he could take back his principles. _Would anything take away his self-loathing? _He had a very real fear of losing himself to evi-

"Harry-," Lucius made a strangled sound beneath his hands and Harry jumped when an icy hand touched his own.

"Fuck." He immediately loosened his grip, leaning back heavily against the wall. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"What were you thinking?" Lucius asked softly.

"I feel like a human being when I'm here." He kept his eyes firmly shut.

"Harry, let go," Lucius said and the kindness in his voice felt like punishment. He was lost; he didn't know if Lucius meant for him to forgive himself or to release his shoulder, which was still in a death grip.

Malfoy's hand was skin and bones but Harry clung to it. He brought his right hand up holding the long, thin fingers within both of his, absorbing the warmth that Lucius didn't have to give. Harry let it go on and on, taking everything from him, comfort, acceptance. He forced himself to let go very suddenly, dropping his hands lamely to his sides; Lucius folded his own on his lap. They looked like a staged muggle photograph; the young man standing behind the frail older one. He laughed, a burst, and then he felt it deep in his stomach, a terrific rumbling sensation.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, "I'm confused." Harry lazily flopped his head onto Lucius' shoulder. He didn't care that he had broken down gain, or that he liked touching Malfoy.

The man tensed for only a moment before relaxing under the weight of Harry's head. He wondered how long the boy had carried this self-hatred around with him. Forever he expected because he survived. He was forced to see that he had spent seven years of his life avoiding death. There was no adrenaline at the end; it truly was reality and the boy's own dread that he would have to go on living, perhaps alone.

He felt Harry's hysteric laughter turn to sobs, his shoulder becoming damp. He wanted to protect the child he had tried to kill on more than one occasion. The irony. He could almost see the humor, except this was Azkaban and Dementors or not there was no joy. Very lightly he placed a hand on the boy's head combing his fingers through the ever messy hair. His breathing slowed and gradually Harry began to remove himself from Lucius until they were again separated by bars.

**Twenty-Seventh Week: **

It was a laboriously slow process, and they were awkward. As they moved they had to use a sort of shuffle step because Lucius would not allow Harry to carry him and Harry tried several times anyway.

They moved rather quickly from Azkaban to the mainland and he suspected the older man would not show weakness inside the prison. He had rented a car because flooing seemed too much effort, for them both, and he wanted the drive.

Having Lucius released from Azkaban had been true hell, and the fight he put up was almost primal. He felt snapped, stretched over the last six months by guilt and raw need. He needed a friend; he needed a monster that he could always defeat. He took them down long winding roads and that seemed to never end. He wondered when he would have to explain the whole thing to Lucius. Soon he thought because now he would have to get back to his own life. Hadn't this been his goal for the past six months, maybe longer? Lucius would be free and that would be a debt repaid. Narcissa had saved him and he was saving her husband. He should have done it years ago.

Lucius slept haltingly, trying and failing to remain awake and upright. When he did sleep Harry watched, almost hungrily. He looked a thousand times worse than frail. Years ago, Lucius had been a full head taller than himself and at least forty pounds heavier with what Harry imagined was lean muscle. Now, he absolutely knew he could snap him with a thought. He reached over abruptly and seized the older man's hand. Almost unconsciously he stroked his thumb along the blonde's wrist.

Harry took Lucius home to Malfoy Manor. It seemed bare, stripped, by the ministry, of anything that brought life and joy. It took Harry's breath away, the blankness of just stone and marble. They negotiated the Manor's many steps and corridor hastily; Lucius was exhausted and put up far less resistance when Harry began to combination carry and drag him to the room he had gotten ready. He moved along beside Harry silently and seemed to use all his effort staying vertical. Harry ran a bath, testing the water on his wrist as he would for a small child. He sat Lucius on the edge of the enormous tub and lingered. He wanted to say something, anything that would sound normal. He settled for kissing the older man's forehead and fleeing embarrassedly.

Just as the shadows were growing deep he returned. The blonde was still on the tub's edge, head pressed back against the wall, exactly as Harry had left him. He almost smiled. _Because of course Lucius wouldn't bathe himself. _He re-ran the water as he began to pull the man's clothes off, moving him like a rag doll. He felt a wave of something like arousal roll over him. It was wrong, revolting; the man weighted a hundred pounds wet and he was thinking about what it would be like if they fucked.

The warm water seemed to awaken Lucius and his eyes focused on Harry as he scrubbed him with a soft sponge. The water was murky after Harry had finished his back, brown after his arms and black when his torso was clean. He finished his legs and thighs before a nervousness crept up on him. He brought the sponge up higher, rubbing away the dirt on Lucius' inner thighs. Harry glanced up; Lucius look at ease, hands resting in the water, head back, and eyes still shut.

Tentatively he pushed the loofa against the side of the older man's cock and swiped downward towards the base. A strip of pale white flesh was revealed; he repeated the action, letting the sponge linger ever so slightly with each motion. He didn't know what he expected but Lucius was hard and suddenly the sponge was moving over patches of skin that were already clean, in a kind of caress. Harry's cheeks were on fire and he bent down further over the tub, closer to Lucius, who at some point had spread his legs wide. This was obscene and hot as fuck. _Gods._ One of them made a keening sound, low and needy; and, Harry sped up his hand which had joined the sponge in its awkward fondling.

He felt like he was watching a train wreck, _more like participating_, and could do nothing to stop it. He couldn't stop his hands; he couldn't even stop his hips from rutting in the air. He wanted friction, badly, but that would have meant moving his upper body away from Lucius and he couldn't. _Wouldn't_. He didn't know.

He was too hard to know anything. He could only think of two things; would Malfoy come soon and should he come in his pants? The first was answered quickly. They were both worn, impatient and to find release and Harry abandoned the sponge. He fisted Lucius' cock with both hands, hard, feeling guilty for more than one reason. As Lucius groaned Harry pulled his hands away watching his cook bob up and shoot pearly white strands directly into his face. _Christ._ It was enough to have Harry pushing helplessly against the tub. He gripped the edges, thrusting for all he was worth, which still didn't seem like enough. It hurt; it was clumsy but he just couldn't stop until he came. His eyes opened and shut rapidly; Malfoy flashing in and out, looking beaten and beyond beautiful.

"Please, please, please," he might have chanted forever or ten seconds before Lucius finally released him in a rough whisper, "Harry."


	2. A child's laughter

**A/N: **I reference the book _Blue Nude_, written by Elizabeth Rosner. Not having read it won't matter at all. Anything I want the reader to know is explained. It focuses on a German painter Danzig and an Israeli woman, Merav. The book uses a series of flashbacks to round out the characters and many of them take place directly after World War II. I emphasis these flashbacks because they fit with my own story. This book is by no means exclusively a war story and I highly recommend it. Also, I **do not** condone Nazi actions despite certain sections of this story. Thanks for reading and reviews are encouraged!

**Thirty- First Week: **

This would be his last week at the Manor; it had to be. He couldn't make any more excuses to Hermione or to himself. He was living in an imaginary world that was incredibly fragile.

"You are restless, today," Lucius said quietly.

Harry's head snapped around from the window. Lucius didn't look quite so haggard; he wasn't healthy but Harry could recognize the old aristocrat beginning to shine through. "This is my last week."

"I am aware," Malfoy said, "Although I imagine your new found free time will be most welcomed."

Harry frowned, angry, "Knock it off, Malfoy. I chose to stay here. I wanted to."

The older man raised a delicate eyebrow, almost amused, "and moody," he said amending his previous observation.

Harry snorted, "I met with Hermione this morning."

"Hm?"

"She thinks I've gone off the deep end," he glanced up hesitantly, "and I think I have too."

"Take back you sanity, then."

"It's hard," he said simply, honestly.

"Oh, don't I know it, Harry. It's a winding path that grows increasingly dark and it's a thousand tears in addition to the ones you can't drag out. It's hell with yourself as the devil," he finished mildly.

And Harry had to laugh and then sob because the road to sanity was also being in love and not being able to say a damned thing. He stood in front of the blonde shaking and finally bringing himself under control. "I'd rather be crazy," he said firmly.

Lucius gave him a wary smile and crossed to Harry so that they were breathing the same air. "You will be very lonely," he said before kissing the young man's cheek.

_Why_, Harry wanted to ask, but nothing was coming out of his mouth. He bent forward breathing deeply into Lucius' neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark. The older man hissed, smiling against his temple.

"I fell in love," Harry whispered.

Lucius moved his hands to Harry's hips holding them steady as he rolled his own. "I can do many things for you Harry," here he slipped a hand down the front of his jeans, "but I cannot," the hand pressed insistently behind his balls, "be in love," he sucked at the boy's bottom lip, "with you."

Harry groaned, torn between fury and his own desperate need to be near the man. He shifted awkwardly. _Fuck_. Lucius' hand wandered, stroking, his finger tips moved across the inside of his thighs. He reached down flicking his fly open, violently. It wasn't the release he had hoped for. The blonde's hand was too light, intentionally teasing. He cupped the bulge in the man's trousers, hard, as encouragement. Lucius made a gruff noise deep in his throat, finally relenting. He moved his hand smoothly along Harry's length at a measured pace. His head fell onto the man's chest and he wanted nothing more than to slam himself against Lucius. But, he couldn't ask. It was his absolute breaking point, although falling in love seemed more of a humiliation.

He tilted his head up as if basking. _In what? Was he such a hopeless romantic?_

Lucius' hands had stopped stroking and Harry seemed frozen, wondering. He felt the blonde's lips on his before strong hands wrapped around his thighs and brought their groins into sharp contact. _Oh._ Lucius held him firmly, making sure that he had control of Harry's movements. He could have broken away; he could have pushed the taller man against the wall and used him as he was being used now but-

Lucius had his hand down his pants again and he felt the man stiffen, and his stormy eyes fluttered. Love or not, Lucius was taking pleasure from him. _Christ._ He moved faster within the older man's grip, even as he felt Lucius' strength falter and then fail altogether. Harry looked up blankly, not sure whose cum was staining the front of his shirt.

**Thirty- Third Week: **

Without Ginny he was left with a very shitty apartment- that was his own again- and a deeply battered purple couch. Everything seemed to be Ginny's; everything was useless. He wanted nothing of the life that was supposed to be theirs. So his flat was bare, and it was ironic. It did not feel lifeless as the Manor had been. The absence of things seemed very much like him.

He saw Hermione for the first time in weeks on a Thursday. _Malfoy's day._ She was showing. How long had he been away? _Had he really missed something so obvious? _Seeing her felt like ice water in his veins. She was the same, small and energetic, woman who had saved his ass more times than he could count. She was also a beautiful child still; Hermione wanted to not only save the world but change it in one fell swoop.

Harry hugged her hard, her belly hitting his belt. "You look great," he said to her breathlessly.

"You look thin. Aren't you eating? Why haven't you returned my owls? You're floo's locked? The wards wouldn't recognize me?"

He sighed and led them to a table, waiting until a waitress brought tea before he met her eyes. "I know and I'm sorry, about everything. It seemed so hard to tell you. To tell Ron."

"So you ran away. Oh Harry," and he saw tears form in her eyes, huge with worry. "What's happening?"

"Nothing. Nothing, honesty." He touched her hand. "I feel like I owe him something. Narcissa saved me and-," he gave her a look so she would remain silent," – and I know you don't understand. I **wanted** to help him, Hermione. I still want to help him because it wasn't just our war. We won but if you went there, to Azkaban, you wouldn't think too highly of our side."

"I'm trying to understand. Really, I am. You've just been so distant from us all. We only wanted to help. Does Lucius help?" She asked anxiously.

He nodded sharply, once.

"Does he tell you the truth or what you want to hear?"

He smiled wryly, "there's three sides to every story, Hermione. Your side, his side and the truth. Our side just happened to be yelling the loudest."

"There's basic good and evil, Harry and what Malfoy did was evil."

"I know, Mione. I know. I'm not asking you to like him. He is not a kind man but he has-_feelings, a heart_- pain."

"But, so do good people; he gets to live. Isn't that enough? So many people died and Lucius Malfoy gets to live. That seems unfair."

She took a wet sip of her tea. He could imagine her as a mother, bossy and fantastically loving. When he focused on her again she looked scholarly, as if she could reason him out of his love.

"He's not **living** anymore, Hermione. He just got to keep his life. Draco's dead, Narcissa's dead. _And Severus._ Do you think he wouldn't rather be dead as well?"

She dropped her chin for a moment. Her inherit goodness battling her sense of injustice. "What will you do now?" She asked finally.

"Protect him. Not everyone's as kind as you."

She smiled, "I'm happy to see you Harry. I was so worried. The papers said he was released and then you disappeared. We knew it had to be you."

Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged, "because he's mine. I didn't want your hate or fear to enter the world I created."

"But why?"

"I wanted to forget," he whispered. "Because I would rather be touched by someone who thinks I destroyed their world than by someone who thinks I saved it."

**Thirty- Third Week: Sunday. **

He rented a car again to drive the nearly three hours to the Manor. He took a different route, more direct than previously. He watched the hills roll by this time and he felt something very much like loneliness.

Harry stopped a hundred or so yards from the iron gate. He could feel the wards but any closer and Lucius would be able to feel him too. He would know Harry had come and not seen him. He felt pushed aside by a man who was still behind bars. _An elegant palace but still a prison. _He stepped forward, needing to touch_._ His hands ghosted over the perfectly carved bars, always keeping him out.

He watched as a tall figure opened the Manor's heavy doors and started towards him. Home, the Manor, suited Lucius; this seemed the proper place for a man with such a straight nose, and such soft skin you knew he could never have done any real labour. He moved towards Harry so smoothly he must have been gliding and he felt at once disgusted and drawn to him. It was becoming so easy to feel affection rather than loathing for him.

_Jesus, he's tall. _Lucius stood in front of him, silently, curiously. He waved his hand lazily. The gates melted away, nothing separating them. Lucius took several steps forward so that his was on the edge of the invisible barrier.

"The wards," he said gently, "extend five miles in each direction."

"I didn't know. I would have stayed away."

"I know," Malfoy said calmly.

"I told Hermione you would rather be dead."

He tilted his head slightly, "we all have our days."

Harry growled, almost feral at the pale man and stepped closer. He had crossed the barrier. The magical line that ensured Lucius Malfoy would remain tamed. He was standing so close to Lucius he had to look up. He smelled sandalwood, and something faintly like a cigar and scotch. He wanted to take one more step and let Malfoy wrap his arms around him because he was actually very tired. He felt achy, aged.

"I think," Lucius said very softly, "that it would have been better if you had gone on hating me. You will have to make an effort now, Harry. You must think of me as a debt repaid and go on with your life. That innate heroism will do neither of us any good, not now. I will be infinitely more comfortable here and I thank you for that."

"You're saying you don't need me anymore."

"I am saying you do not need me."

Harry laughed, loudly and with unnatural mirth. "That's fucking perfect. You're all safe and warm and I'm dismissed, right?" His voice was shrill and it reminded him of Ginny, her pleading and need to be noticed. But his need was real, and all consuming. "Why did you touch me?" When seconds felt like minutes he screamed, "Why did you fucking touch me?" They were so close; Harry swayed slightly with fury.

"I am human."

That was to honest, too perfectly suited to their situation. Harry struck out with as much force as humanly possible. He heard his knuckles hit flesh, a wet slapping sound. Lucius let him; the older man seemed rooted to the spot, unflinching and completely at the younger man's mercy. Harry's eyes were closed and his hands felt numb but he kept moving, desperately. It felt like fucking without the pleasure. He heard a crack. _Was it him?_ Briefly, Malfoy's face flashed before him. It was twisted, shockingly white, agonized. His pummeling went on, weaker now because his sorrow was much stronger than his ire. It was then, after several minutes, that Malfoy spoke, "enough," and it was over.

Harry didn't look up. Instead he concentrated on his breathing. He counted to two hundred. "What if I do need you?"

Lucius released a jagged breath. "This," he moved his arm," is still a prison and I am still a prisoner. Nothing has changed."

"I've changed." A pained look moved over Malfoy's features again so that Harry could very clearly see his age.

"Very well, Harry," the blond finally conceded. "But my situation remains the same. I cannot leave," then softly, "I will always be here." He gave the boy a gentle push backwards, over the line. "Now go home."

The gate reappeared and Harry sensed it was altered. Lucius turned and walked away from him but Harry touched the bars, touched the man.

**Thirty-Seventh/ Eighth Week: Saturday through Saturday. ***

Saturday: Lucius,

What happened to Severus' things when he died? The library had a book, a muggle book, which has his name in it: Blue Nude.

Harry.

Monday: Harry,

Many of Severus' possessions are in storage within the Ministry because his will is unable to be executed at this time. The book is indeed muggle; Severus was very fond of the parallels between the book and the muggle second world war.

Lucius.

Tuesday: Lucius,

Danzig reminds me of a more remorseful you. It was a love story though and I wasn't expecting that. Severus was a romantic. They won't give you his things because you're technically still in prison? I could get them, if you like?

Harry.

Thursday: Harry,

Severus was a hopeless romantic, yes. It was a very endearing, if not foolish, quality. He unwittingly countered my cynicism.

As to remorse: I have a great deal, Harry, but Danzig's regret was aimed at an internal conflict. He was not an active participate in the war but a later observer. His sole emotion in relation to the war was guilt over Margot. His formative years were spent in a state of political correctness.

I was not raised in such an era and as I grew into adulthood I had no wish to imagine a different world from my own. I take pride in my wizarding heritage, as should you. It has never been my aim to extinguish a subset of our culture. But, I will defend my right to a higher social standing. We have lost a great many traditions with the influx of muggles into our world.

I believe we have no way of knowing whether Danzig's overall contrition, or perhaps caution, towards Merav is borne of a desire to exemplify his nationality. Or, is it borne of societal pressures? We see him as conflicted, and with fiction we find his uncertainty natural. But, as living beings it is far more difficult to show our two halves.

When you have finished with the book I would appreciate it being returned to me. It was a gift to Severus and the only item of value I wish to have.

Best,

Lucius

Friday: Lucius,

It's unnatural how reasonable you make bigotry sound, but I seriously doubt that any other Death eater had such a well reasoned argument. There was only blind violence. You directly caused death. We've got a whole generation of Walter's; reveling in the glory days and unable to adjust to the 'AFTER.'

Yours,

Harry.

Saturday: Harry,

No need to worry; I shall keep my contrary opinions to myself and cease throwing stones immediately for I, too, live within a glass house.

Sincerely,

Lucius.

**Forty-Fourth Week: **

He kept the book for nearly two months, reading and rereading, not understanding. He should have given it back last week or the week before or the month before. It wasn't his; Lucius has asked for it, but only once.

He looked over at Lucius; he was asleep on the couch across from Harry. He seemed peaceful, touchable. _He wanted to touch him._

Although Lucius let him visit it was distant, there was hesitation. Mostly Harry watched him read or write business letters. Occasionally they would speak, but Harry was almost content. And maybe he could do this forever.

The month he had stayed with Lucius, basically lived with him, they had touched, kissed, nearly fucked. He wanted that again: he wanted love to be easy.

Lucius shifted, his head lolling back and blonde hair slipping from its plait. His body curled toward the couch's center. It seemed reasonable for Harry to tuck himself along Malfoy's side, his slighter frame fitting perfectly. He slept deeply against Lucius. It was a small wonder, and a reprieve from the tension that seemed to be stacked higher than heaven. Sitting across from Malfoy instead of beside him was an exercise in self-control he could have done without. In sleep his body had freedom. He could not be blamed or accountable.

It seemed days, weeks, months before he woke up. He was warm, safe, his head resting just under Malfoy's chin. He kept his eyes closed. _If I can't see you, you can't see me. _

"I know you are awake," Lucius said, amusement just barely touching his tone.

"No," Harry answered.

Lucius shifted to look down his nose at the boy, and very nearly smiled. "I think this concludes our visit," he said. His voice gave nothing away. He moved gracefully, separating himself from Harry. He seemed aware of his feelings and Harry didn't know if he should be pleased or annoyed.

Malfoy treated him as if he would break; like he was fragile but it was the other way around. Lucius was fragile, too thin, and very ghostly.

He wanted to shock him, hurt him maybe. It didn't matter as long as Lucius wasn't calm anymore. "I have your book," he blurted, "Severus' book."

His brows knitted but he ignored Harry's tone, "Thank you. I'm pleased you found it enjoyable."

"Why did you give it to him?"

Smoothly, "to apologize."

"For what," Harry asked harshly; he felt powerful, forceful. It took anger for him to acknowledge Lucius' claim on humanity. He could win. _Win what? The truth, that Lucius could love, just not him? Ironic._

The blonde turned so he was facing Harry, still calm. "I wanted to apologize for bringing him to the Dark Lord; I dispassionately took advantage of a lonely and defeated child." He frowned slightly, "it is easy to blindly believe and consequently to invoke that belief in a boy who desperately wanted to belong, to be useful." Lucius sighed, resigned.

"I'm sorry Severus died," Harry said softly.

"As am I," the blonde returned. "He had a very difficult time accepting love, particularly mine, and as you said _Blue Nude_ is a love story."

Harry had inched closer to Malfoy-which had not gone unnoticed- and now stared directly into the dove grey eyes. "I want you to believe that I love you, Lucius."

Harry held his gaze, firmly as if sheer force would convince him. He wished for the talent of legilimency, the power of mind reading or, hell, he would have taken tarot cards just to know what Malfoy was thinking.

He leaned forward too quickly for Lucius to pull away and the kiss was hungry, fast. He could be just as forceful-cruel even- as Malfoy. Harry climbed onto Lucius' lap and continued his kiss. He felt the man's mouth open for him, heard him moan and shift beneath him. If Lucius were going tostop him he should do it now, before Harry's hand finished undoing his shirt.

When the older man did nothing he took it as the last obstacle. He slid backwards and tugged furiously at his jeans. His cock sprang free, precum coating his head. Lucius looked raw; his neck and lips were bruised his shirt roughly opened. Harry stood in front of him, naked from the waist down. He would not allow himself to be nervous. "Do you have any lube," he asked. His voice barely made it to a whisper.

Malfoy waved his hand and a small blue vial floated gently to his hand. He raised his eyebrows, asking, and slowly he stood as well. Naked, they looked at each other openly, until Harry stepped forward pressing his body flush against the pale one.

"Just fuck me once and I'll never ask you again. Lucius. We can go back to talking through bars if that'll make you happy."

Lucius touched the small of Harry's back. "No, that would not make me happy, Harry. Turn around please," he said.

Harry spun standing stock still, waiting for a touch, Lucius' voice mocking him maybe. He did not expect to feel a body pressed along his back, nor did he expect to feel Malfoy's cock sliding up his ass. He jumped nervously. He still felt as if this could be a joke. The man would pull away sharply and raise his eyebrow at him with a trademark smirk. Yet, Lucius didn't have that sort of humor. He felt a hand on his hips; feather light, the pale hands moving to his lower belly. He bucked into the air when Malfoy's mouth began to suck at his neck leaving a wet trail. _A seduction? _He guided their hips together in a slow roll, one of his hands moving to Harry's balls. He stroked the underside of his cock, producing another buck from the young man.

Harry felt the hand on his back again, pushing him forward. He stood bent, arms dangling in front of him waiting for something to happen. A slim finger circled his entrance, once, twice, three times before entering him. The lube was warm and velvety and this was awkward. A second finger joined the first, scissoring inside him. He rarely bottomed; it felt like a loss of control and he couldn't stay hard, but right now it wasn't and he still was. Lucius' fingers pressed his prostate; jolts of pleasure shot straight to his cock making his knees wobble. He had an image of them actually fucking; a flash-forward of them locked together moaning. He pushed back onto the fingers wanting urgently to come with Malfoy inside him. Lucius pulled away with one last deep stroke.

He turned Harry to face him again, both of them watching the blonde coat his erection with the shimmery liquid. He tugged on Harry's hips walking him forward until he was standing above a seated Lucius. Malfoy's cock pointed proudly. They waited. It felt like a choice, one last chance to bow out gracefully.

Harry crossed the remaining distance between them and dropped onto the man's lap, knees on either side of his thighs. He kissed him quickly missing his lips slightly. Then just as quickly and without warning he positioned Lucius' cock at his entrance and sank down. He forced his eyes to stay open and watch Malfoy's face. He looked almost pained and then his eyes flew open, blown wide, "move," he breathed.

They seemed to take off, Harry bearing down hard and Lucius thrusting up violently. He jerked Harry's body finding the angle that would push them both over the edge. Harry rewarded him with a strangled scream when he hit it. He dug his fingers into the blondes' biceps. Their fucking was hardly worth the effort; they lasted less time than Lucius spent prepping him. Harry bent, panting into Malfoy's ear, and Lucius tugged hard on his prick.

Harry laid atop Lucius, both covered in cum. Malfoy had no energy to move them, clean them. He summoned the book from the boy's cloak. It was far more worn than he remembered. Under his own inscription to Severus, written nearly twenty years ago, was Harry's own addressed to him.

The first read:

_Severus,_

_I could proclaim my love every day until I die and I have no doubt you would remain unconvinced, and think me a sentimental fool. It amazes me, the extent you will go to forgive my betrayal to your trust. Yet, you cannot forgive me for falling in love. I cannot imagine a world where love is a great crime than the atrocities I have committed._

_Yours,_

_Lucius._

And Harry's:

_Lucius,_

_Can you recognize those same feeling of hopelessness and rejection when they are right in front of you? Because, apparently, I live in a world where love is the greater crime._

_With love,_

_Harry_

**Forty-Seventh Week: **

_ "War helped us in a great many ways, and that was how I had almost come to regard war as a rather disreputable and unreliable accomplice in my [love]…I measured love by the extent of my jealousy, and by that standard of course [he] could not love me at all… [But, I] needn't be so scared [, because] love doesn't end [.]"_

_ -Graham Green, 1951, The End of the Affair_

He kept his promise and did not ask Lucius to fuck him again. It was easier for Harry now that there were boundaries, expectations of their visits. Harry felt comfortable in his presence; they slowly found their way back to civil conversation. It was, Harry realized, unfair of him to be jealous of a dead man, a good man. And, it was impossible to compete with a memory. It was during the time immediately after they fucked that Harry began to feel his own balance. He could have thanked Lucius for his time and moved on. He was overwhelmingly proud to discover that he did not need Malfoy and devastated to understand that he **wanted** Lucius.

**Fiftieth Week: **

Hermione's water broke as Harry was saying goodbye to her. The baby girl, Caroline, was precisely on time at forty weeks, and he had no doubt that she would be unnervingly like her mother. He helped deliver his goddaughter because Ron was not answering their fire calls and Hermione wouldn't let go of his hand. He was amazed and shaken and crying in the corner himself when the mediwitch brought the family inside. While Hermione slept he rocked the baby and resisted the urge to feel resentful.

"You have a baby," he said when both families had left and Ron was sound asleep beside her bed.

She looked up with a soft smile. "I think she'll have red hair and maybe blue eyes. It," she shrugged one shoulder, "it seems important that she be beautiful."

Her hair was falling in massive curls and she looked drugged, her face slack with fatigue. "She's going to be just like you," he said honestly.

"I hope she finds a more reliable husband."

"She'll be just as bossy as you are with whomever she marries." _Whom? Very Lucius._

Hermione focused suddenly, clutching Caro a little tighter to her chest. "I can't be a mother like Molly or Fleur, Harry. I want to make a difference, I mean… I want her to be proud of me and aspire to more than having dinner on the table by six." She sounded bitter, far more so than a new mother had the right to be. "And, I know they'll hate me. Ron and I argued today actually, right before lunch." She paused; he couldn't look up and know that they were both thinking the same thing. He couldn't watch her cry.

He should have woken Ron up and then everything would have been okay. His wife was crying and she had just had a baby but if Ron only saw her tears he would never make her sad again. If he could have seen her worry for a child that was only hours old. Instead he said, "she's going to be wonderful, Mione, you're going to be perfect."

She sniffed and he felt it was safe to look again. "You were great today by the way." She smiled.

"No, don't thank me. It was fantastic and I don't think I'll ever want to do it again," he said, nervous.

"You won't mind-," She stopped her face ashen. "I'm sorry. I'm tired. I would never and I wasn't thinking-"

"Hermione, look, don't apologize. I thought about it earlier today, holding Caro. At least you can say it; I think I'm in such deep denial it took holding a baby for me to even realize." He touched her thigh through the blanket, "you've been great. Even when I've been an ass."

"Only a little difficult," She said.

He snorted. "This will be something to write about this week."

"You were going to meet him," she asked, "when I went into labor?"

"Yes."

"I can't say I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "He knows I'm with you."

"Does he worry, I mean, when you're not on time?"

"I don't know, Mione, I honestly don't. He may not even be registering me as a person. I come once a week and he's always polite, gracious."

"Harry," she began, "maybe you're asking too much of him. You want a- _monster, villain_- very rigid man to love you."

"Everyone wants something Hermione."

"Yes, and not everyone gets what they want."

He pulled a face, disgusted for a moment. "When have I ever fucking got what I want?"

"Now, that's not fair, Harry" She glanced quickly over at Ron. "I'm not trying to upset you, but would being with Lucius for the rest of your life make you happy? You won't ever really be a couple. He's not a good man," she said, so softly it was more a sigh.

"Lucius has been good to me, good for me."

"Does he make you happy?"

"I've never been happy. I've seen happiness, between you and Ron and Remus and Tonks but I'm not a part of that."

"Oh, Harry," she whispered. "You've got this romantic idea of the world; even after everything we're done. Ron and I aren't happy. We're deeply in love with each other and we tolerate the rest. Will you be able to stand it if Malfoy never falls in love with you?"

He looked up at her fighting off laughter. "You know falling in love is just about the only mistake I can, or will have ever made, that won't get anyone hurt or killed." He shook his head feeling a little lighter with his revelation. "So yes, I think I'll live with it. No one will get hurt. I don't expect you to care about our anniversary-_god willing_- and I'll never ask you over for dinner."

"We couldn't come anyway," she said seriously, "children are probably too messy for him and we wouldn't want to ruin his gold place setting and silk napkins." She yawned and he saw her eyes twinkling for the slightest moment. She shifted Caro a little away from her body as if to judge her potential to cause havoc. Hermione grinned sleepily at him.

"I'll ask him and get back to you," he said his hand on the door.

**Fifty- First Week: **

"Do you think kids are too messy?" He asked.

Lucius paused, his hands hovering stiffly over the piano keys. He had been playing something discordant, absorbed in the notes. He turned partially, raising an eyebrow at the younger man. "Messy is a rather inadequate description," he said mildly.

"Was Draco?"

Lucius looked sharply at him. "No, Draco was very neat, even as a small child"

"Did you help deliver him?"

"Yes," his voice was barely a whisper. "Is there something you would like to tell me, Harry?"

He shook his head but began to speak. "Hermione had a girl, Caroline."

Malfoy nodded, "song of happiness, French."

"I guess," he said, "Hermione's worried that the Weasley's will hate her for wanting to go back to work. Caro couldn't have been five hours old and Hermione already has a thousand worries."

Lucius nodded, "I was fearful of Draco resenting Narcissa and me, for our choices, for bringing him into a world where he was either fated to serve the Dark Lord or die resisting." Harry made a sound signaling his disbelief and Lucius chuckled softly. "Harry, I did not want my son to have to fight for a perfect world. I wanted to **give** it to him." And then with bitterness, "instead…I killed him. Or how did you put it. Ah, yes, I 'directly caused death'."

"That's not what I meant," Harry snapped, "I didn't mean Draco."

"Draco's is the only death that mattered."

"You wouldn't have cared if every muggleborn had died if Draco could have lived?"

"No, I would not have cared. Does that shock you?"

"No," he said and he truly was not surprised or shocked. It was obvious even in school that Draco was loved, well cared for. He was arrogant and rich and Harry hated him for his privilege, for being cherished. It would go without saying that he would have a father who would kill for him as well.

"Perhaps it should," he murmured thoughtfully.

"Why? I know exactly the type of person you are Lucius."

Malfoy frowned before turning back to the piano. This time he began to play a song Harry recognized. It startled him, the sudden burst of Christmas music. "I taught Draco to play the piano as a child and even so he would sit on my lap demanding I play for him. It had to be a Christmas piece, year round." Harry moved closer to stand over the older man's shoulder. They both watched Lucius' hands, slender and pale, as they moved over the keys. "He created a world where Christmas was every day." Lucius let the last chord ring, moving his hands away with a flourish and turning to face Harry. "What am I, Harry," he touched his index and middle fingers to the boy's temple, "in here?"

Harry inched forward to stand directly before Malfoy, the man's knees coming into contact with his thighs. "A lover," he answered honestly. "In my head I come home to you at night; we read by the fire. I complain to you about work and when I can't save someone you hold me."

Lucius smirked, "what a vivid imagination you have." He stood sharply and grasped Harry's chin forcing their eyes to meet. "I cannot assuage your guilt and I cannot wrap you in my arms when you are afraid. The man you are seeing in your mind is a fantasy." He emphasized each word harshly. Harry reeled back from this version of Lucius, but the man held his jaw firmly.

Malfoy stared hard into the emerald eyes. He had no more patience for this boy and his romanticism, his affection. He felt his control, finally, slipping. It was torture watching Potter run in circles. He wanted to be propped up, comforted. It would have been easier to love Harry than to push him away but what the boy needed was an escape from himself, his all enveloping pain. He saw the physical act of Harry giving him pain as if it were tangible, a stack of bricks being exchanged. Burden? He was losing himself **to** the young man, or was he losing himself **in** the young man?

The man bent and kissed Harry gently, feeling his tension begin to fade. Harry was surprised but returned Lucius' kiss immediately. Of course, he could not ask to be touched but willingly he accepted whatever Lucius had to offer. Malfoy's hard grip turned into a caress along his jaw. He moaned, surprised. Whatever version of the man he was experiencing right now seemed torn and exhausted. He was handling him gently, running his hands down Harry's back. It was intoxicating, this Lucius.

The man brought his mouth to Harry's neck, licking and sucking and soothing him. He slipped a hand down the blonde's trousers, grabbing handfuls of his ass and Malfoy allowed it. He seemed to be granting Harry anything in this moment. "Oh Christ," he moaned, "please." He didn't know what he was asking for until Lucius began removing his trousers and he was content to let the man interpret his needs.

There was a blonde halo at his feet and then Lucius engulfed him in warm, wet, heat. He staggered, only to be caught by pale hands. He tentatively began to thrust, shallowly like his breathing. He could feel himself exploding; it seemed beyond his self-control. He didn't want to wait. He felt Lucius hum around his erection and then firmly grab the base of his cock. Somehow he understood that Harry was too close to stop, to resist. It didn't seem possible but he grew excruciatingly hard watching his cock fall from Malfoy's mouth with a pop.

They moved together more slowly this time. Harry bent over the piano, ten perfect prints marring it's surface. Lucius rested his forehead on his shoulder and moved his hips against Harry fluidly, the thrust deep and measured. This was the kind of sex Malfoy loathed; it was more than just an abuse of bodies. It had weight and emotions connected with it.

The pale man turned his head, burying his face in Harry's neck. He was broken, long past repair, and fucking Harry was, for a moment, the most wonderful sensation. He moved his hands to the boy's hip hones, palms spread wide. He wanted to possess his youth, his naivety because he had such promise. It felt as though the boy would live forever, and he was an old man.

Lucius groaned, bringing both hands down to rub the sensitive skin on Harry's inner thigh. The young man cried out, primal and his head dropped between his shoulders. He sucked at the exposed flesh. There was no restraint anymore.

Malfoy was hitting bottom with each thrust now, and Harry felt unstable, split. Lucius spread his thighs wanting to move deeper still. The contact wasn't enough for Harry, wasn't where he needed it, and he was so close. His cock rubbed teasingly against the smooth wood of the piano. _And,_ _this had gone on long enough. _

"Lucius get your hands on my fucking dick," he snarled.

Harry simultaneously felt the man's laughter and the much needed stroking of his cock. One arm felt like an iron bar across his stomach, the other hand moving rapidly over his erection and balls. It was such a fine point between pain and pleasure, but he needed pleasure. His darker side had nothing to with sex. He reached for Lucius' hand and dragged the slim fingers to his lip. He coated them sloppily with his saliva and pushed them away quickly. Lucius came powerfully inside of Harry, the spasms never seeming to end. He shut his eyes tightly and when it seemed absolutely over he kissed the juncture of Harry's neck.

The white spurts of cum, Harry's cum, over the black piano looked like night and day. Opposites. Love is not the antithesis of hate but rather apathy. Except Lucius couldn't love but he didn't hate and he had to care.

**Fifty-Second Week: A child's laughter. **

Lucius did not have golden place settings; he did have silk napkins and neither were used as they sat around a small round table in the kitchen. The room was comfortable, inviting and seemed unconnected to the rest of the Manor. There was dust, familiar smells and coziness within the oversized room. House elves popped in and out busily, seemingly happy, a magical room.

Harry looked between Hermione and Lucius. She was nervous, fidgeting and trying to stay calm. She trusted Harry; she believed in his goodness, his love. But, it was unbelievable that she would be sitting in Malfoy's kitchen. Caro slept peacefully and Hermione was struck by how simple a child's life was. She sensed no danger from a very dangerous man.

The table was small and she couldn't politely move any further away from Malfoy. She would have almost preferred to visit Malfoy in Azkaban. The bars were a small assurance. Still, Lucius seemed tempered, domestic. She did not see love, though, as was so plainly written on Harry's face. She spoke mostly to Harry about Caro and his work. He was amazed at the small life, expansive and effusive with is admiration. Yet, he would not touch her.

"She's too small," he said, his voice soft, shy. He felt as if he would break something so truly frail and precious. The hospital had shocked him but this was real, and he could not bear to break her.

She smiled genuinely for the first time since she arrived. "Oh, Harry, children like you if you like them." She looked down with unmitigated love; the small bassinette lay at her feet. Motherhood was good for her; through her weariness she glowed, radiated a kind of bliss.

Harry looked searchingly at Lucius when she hesitantly stood to use the bathroom. "You're been gracious," he said.

"Azkaban has not taken away my good breeding," he said with a smirk.

"Sarcasm's still there too," he grinned. He felt like he was taunting a naughty child and being thoroughly entertained in the process. It felt like a small miracle being this relaxed with Lucius. He had won something today, here, with Hermione and with Lucius. He wasn't aware of what exactly that something was though.

Caro began to cry, a nasally sound. Harry glanced down and back up at Lucius. He looked amused by his uncertainty. He raised an eyebrow at the man-a plea for help. The little girl seemed to hiccup and start again and Hermione wasn't there. He nudged the cradle with his foot making it rock precariously. He had intended to soothe. Another higher pitched cry, desperation.

"Heavens, Harry," Lucius chuckled. He bent and scooped the child up. It seemed very obvious, watching Lucius cradle and lull Caro that Lucius had been the one to care for Draco. He held Draco when he was ill, read him bedtime stories, adored him. Children understood and sensed goodness and they judged character with frightening accuracy. Caro did not cry as Malfoy held her in the crook of his arm. He looked unaffected, easy with her. She seemed to sense he was familiar. He is a father.

Harry felt like an intruder, caught watching a fantastic intimacy. He was furious, undone and collapsed and he seemed to well with total elation. Because yes, Lucius had the capacity to love and although it was a laborious, impossible task, Lucius had given it to him.

* * *

><p>Harry sees them from far away, as if characters themselves in a movie he has long since finished watching, a memory. Lucius is beautiful and tragic. Harry is young and expectant. His character has pled and given up everything to the man and finally as the light fades there is an end in sight. The man relents, he loves. The memory is so dark now but he can see Lucius. His eyes so pale he wonders if there can be any less color within them. There is a sigh of relief; he doesn't know whose it is. And Lucius admits he wants.<p>

"Help me," the man said.

And "gladly" was Harry's reply.


End file.
